Vengeance, not always so sweet
by Carnicirthial
Summary: Alright, here's my attempt at bringing back the spirit of the first moive. Full suammary inside, but basically Ethan gets sent on a "baby-sitting" assinment and gets stuck in a family feud. (never saw MI2)
1. The Mercinary

Okay, basic guildlines and forewarnings to this story:  
1) I've never seen MI2, nor do I want to. So, if i repeat something, bear with me. And best of all? NO NYAH!  
2) Each chapter is inspired by a song, and I'll dediacte the next chapter who dares get deep enough into my head and say what the song is.  
3) This fic is mainly to blow of Tom Cruise steam, so don't really expect an end, or a second chapter. (unless I get reviews!)  
4) Alexandria Scott is sorta a modern version of Ashain Valcon, and kudos to anyone who knows what I'm talking about!

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Vengeance, not always so sweet

There wasn't a thing in the world to set her apart form anyone else on the street, except for very nice motorcycle she was riding. Slender eyes, slender mouth, slender nose, just plain slender. She didn't stand very tall, and had always been anorexically thin due to her… profession. And, let's face it, in her profession it paid to be non-descript. So, dwarfed by her bike and blending in with the night, she rode towards the compound.

The trailer she had hitched behind the bike advertised her a security system maintenance worker. A flash of a pass at a guard tower, a foxy grin to wandering eyes, and she was in past the armored wall. She nonchalantly shrugged off her black leather riding jacket and shoved it into the trailer, not before she had removed a tool belt from the trailer. Whistling her way up the steps, she calmly asked the guard to show her to the main computer room, she had some work to do on the mainframe set-up. Now, we all know that security guards are like pit-bulls; big, mean, and stupid. All together not a good combination, but seeing no immediate harm in the woman, he led her to the desired room, left her the keys, and told her to lock up afterwards.

Now, remember that tool belt? Well, the only tool on it she used was a jump drive, or for you not-so-computer-savvy folks, a mini memory chip. And within minutes, thousands of government secrets were safely loaded on that jump drive. Or maybe not so safely. You see, there was no maintenance needed or scheduled for that night, and the very nice computer security program managed to remember that while a very nasty virus was eating it away.

Now, in case you're just a little slow today, I'll clue you in. That woman wasn't a maintenance worker. Nope, she was a mercenary, currently stealing Cuban government secrets.

Security guards rushed into the room, met with a steady rain of gunfire. None of them were killed, but the assault had been positioned from just behind their entrance, forcing them further into the room. With a deft kick and a naughty word, our mercenary had locked them in the computer room, inadvertently cuing the security systems her captives set off several seconds later.

More guards assaulted the mercenary, but this time the element of surprise was not hers. A shoot-out followed, and was quickly ended with a spatter of blood and a very convincing scream. The mercenary collapsed, and after a prod to her ribs, the security guards were satisfied that she had died. Turning to the fellow they thought had delivered the final shot, they didn't notice the wily mercenary get up, calmly stalk away, and roll a canister of knockout gas their direction until it was too late.

But her troubles weren't over. A newly instituted laser grid had popped up in the entry hall. With several muttered curses at the architect of the building, she removed the tool belt and tucked her gun and jump drive into one of the many pockets on her cargo-pants. And she was off. Twisting, turning, flipping, spinning, she danced her way through the laser grip, softly humming "Get The Part Started" by Pink. With a final head-spin and a flourish of a flip, she was back on the bike, the only evidences of her presence manifested as a burned-out computer, several unconscious guards, a discarded tool belt, and a trailer. Somewhere in the building someone happened across one of the aforementioned objects and raised the alarm – again.

The guards on the gate were ordered to lower the blast door they had at the front entrance, and slowly it began to descend. Lower and lower, until the mercenary had to give a quick yank to her bike and slide on her side. Still clinging to the bike, she got a rather nasty gravel burn, but no other damage occurred. With a final curse at the befuddled Cubans, she hopped a plane for the States and laughed the whole way back.

* * *

"Ah, Spain," Luther sighed as he checked his e-mail. He wasn't expecting anything in particular, but he did get one letter labeled "For the eyes of Ethan Hunt only." Of course Luther was curious, but he knew enough about these things to know that he'd get in some unwanted trouble if he read the e-mail. Instead, he refused the urge to hit the "open" button and slid the laptop to Ethan. Currently pool-side, Ethan had to clear a path in the sea of discarded tan lotion bottles and empty strawberry daiquiri glasses. 

Several minutes passed as Ethan read the e-mail, Luther the whole time trying to resist a peek over his comrade's shoulder. The itch had to be scratched, but the only words he managed to catch were "DELETE IMMEDIATELY!" Ethan passed the laptop back to Luther and began to pull on a t-shirt with a moan.

"Where they got ya going now?" Luther made no move to follow his friend; no reason for both of them to end their vacation early.

"They've got me keeping an eye on some mercenary they hired." No use explaining who "they" were either, they both knew.

"Well, look on the bright side; all you have to do is baby-sit and make sure they don't go sell-out." Ethan only moaned again. "Look, here's what I do when they've got me baby-sitting: try and see if you can human-ize it. Those mercenaries are so caught up in what they do they're always several years behind the times. It fun to watch 'em squirm under all the attention."

"I don't see why they even _use _mercenaries. They can be bought just as easily from some terrorist as from the government." Ethan slipped on a pair of flip-flops and took one last longing glance at the pool.

"Hey, they're expendable resources. Only used when they think they're going to loose a life. No families to compensate, no stories to make up." But Ethan only heard half of the little explanation; he'd dived back into the pool.

* * *

Eugene Kittridge sat across the metal table, and bad feeling in the pit of his wallet. The mercenary just leaned back in her chair, grinning like a maniac. He knew she'd won, they both knew it. 

As if she read his acceptance of defeat, she raised from her chair and waved the little jump drive under Kittridge's nose. "You didn't tell me the _real _price this little trinket would fetch. How do I know? Because I stuck it one the e-bay of the black market for a day, and do you know what types of bids I got? Pretty big ones, believe you me. I could've sold it, right then and there, but I'm too much of a patriot. So, you double the price, and we have a deal." The two had spent the past hour negotiating the terms of sale, when Kittridge had let slip that he knew the real price.

"Fine," he muttered into his hands, "six million dollars will be in your bank account by Tuesday."

"Perfect." She tossed the drive at Kittridge, who barley managed to catch it. "you know where to reach me." And she walked out the door.

Or almost walked out the door. She ran smack dab into some CIA lackey. Before she berate him for blindness and stupidity, Kittridge called from his seat, "Oh, Hunt, I see you've met your new mercenary friend. Ethan Hunt, meet Alexandria Scott, better know as Alex."

Alex whirled around, resisting the urge to jump at Kittridge. "What! Can't you give me at least one day to recuperate?"

"Oh, you'll have plenty of time to recuperate on the plane. You're going to Moscow." Alex went ridged, to Ethan's great amusement.

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Several verbal arguments and two hours later, both Ethan and Alex had thoroughly established the fact that they hated each other, though niehter cared to explain why. 


	2. The difference between Alex and Alexandr...

Omigosh, the rate at which the reviews are coming amazes me. Not. I have come to the conclusion that the only one who gives a rat's whatever about thsi story is me and maybe Pip. Perhaps Becca. Anyway, Last chapter's song was "Get the party started" by Pink, and the dedication goes to... nobody. Wow excitement. Alright, my imaginary readers, guess today's song, and I dare you to guess the difference between Alex and Alexandria. And that family feud I mentioned? Coming soon, with all that sibling-hating goodness. Wait... what?

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**_The difference Between Alex and Alexandria_**

Alexandria raced up the stairs and slammed her door behind her. There was a quick succession of thuds, and one great slam. Alexandria assumed that Will had given up the chase and retreated back to the diner table. But Dad had a saying: "To assume make an ass of you and me." So she pushed what little furniture the room was garnished with in front of the door and hunkered down to spend the night under siege.

Several minutes passed, and the self-made martyr was in the middle of her math homework when her dad swung himself through the window. Dad wasn't _really_ old, just out of his twenties, but the maneuver still made his daughter whistle. "You get paid to do that?" Her dad was an IMF agent, even though she wasn't technically supposed to know.

"Yup, except it's a lot easier when you don't have people shooting at you." Peter Scott snatched away the text book and examined it with a grimace. "What's this?"

Alexandria gladly relinquished the Book of Doom. "Mrs. Anderson caught me hacking in the computer lab and gave me an extra assignment."

Peter's shoulder's shook with suppressed laughter. "Who were you hacking?"

"Nigel Mountbatten. He claims he knows the guy who ransacked my locker, and I was trying to see if the two were in cahoots and IMing." Alexandria made a feeble snatch at the book, and found herself very disappointed when her father didn't fight back.

"I never would have taught you that if I thought you'd use it at school." Dad's voice was admonishing, but his eyes were crinkled in mirth. There was a silence before he spoke again. "Mom wants you to go do the dishes."

Alexandria gave a squeak. "But Will's just outside my door and he swore he'd kill me if I ever left my room!"

"Will said that again?" Alexandria nodded, her eyes tense with fear. "Well, we already tried boot camp, what can we do with him now?" So Alexandria rattled of a thousand slow tortures she'd gladly spend on her brother while she pushed away her furniture. Sure enough, Will was silently waiting outside the door, but made no move to attack his little sister when he saw his dad, glowering in all his stony brilliance.

As Alexandria passed, will whispered in her ear, "Daddy won't always be able to protect you."

Alexandria had no particular notion as to why her brother hated her so, but she didn't particularly want to find out. She never did.

* * *

Alex tugged at the sleeve of a passing flight attendant. "Excuse me, but you wouldn't happen to have anything hard and metal on board would you? A pen, and clipboard, an old computer, or an anvil, perhaps? No, no anvils? Pity." Alex sunk back down into her chair, trying her best not to fall back into her memories.

* * *

Alexandria picked at her dinner, not particularly interested. Amid the hordes of Barbies and G.I. Joes, her parents talked in that funny code of theirs about their day. They never outright said whom they had shot at or been shot at by, but nonetheless by the end of the meal both were caught up in the other's life and the children knew nothing about it. Instead of attempting to follow the covert conversation, Alexandria hunched over her plate. As the second to oldest of nine children in a house with only four adults (their grandparents lived with them) and two of which were gone on a regular basis, Alexandria knew that the lower you were the less likely to be hit by giant wads of the slop Grandma managed to serve. It wasn't like their parents brought in better cooking either; neither of them knew how.

Resigned to her fate, she slowly munched to goop that was on tonight's menu, trying not to think about the impending doom that had lurked over her for a good many years. Will was psychotic, no two ways about it, but it was a cool, cunning psychotic. Mom and Dad never really took him for much of a criminal master mind, but a good many of the moves Alexandria had learned in her fifteen years had been taught by Will. One moment he would be teaching her how to fend off attacks, and the next he would be attacking her with deadly earnest. He wasn't quite right in the head, but those moments when he spent time not trying to attack her were his big-brother-instinct kicking in. Shame, really, that she should be so scared of her brother.

A sharp prick on Alexandria's thigh brought her back in the present. A small bead of blood welling up just below the line of her pants kicked Alexandria into high gear. She snatched her own steak knife, why it was there was a mystery because the sludge didn't resemble steak, and parried Will's next blow. A heavy kick to his chest and a quick bound over his fallen chair sent both Alexandria's parents on auto as well. Mom went strait at Will, who was about to leap into the fray, and Peter went for Alexandria. Soon both children were bound, gagged, and trying to kill each other with their glares. And, if looks could kill, both would have dropped stone dead in an instant.

"What were you doing?" There was a cold note to Peter's voice as he ripped the duct tape off Alexandria's mouth. Well, she no longer need worry about waxing her upper lip.

"Will pricked me." Was the only thing she managed to get out before the duct tape was replaced.

"Why did you do that?" This time the question was for Will.

No excuses, no begging, no threats for Will. "Because I wanted to."

Both parents stared at him with mouths agape before Mom finally had the presence of mind to ask, "Do you _want _to get sent to the State Penn?"

Alexandria smirked under the duct tape, thinking her parents had him. "Why not? I could just get out again." And there was something in Will's voice that made all three believe him.

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Alex woke with a snort. Ethan was prodding her in the ribs, granting sweet relief from the dream/memory.

"You okay? You sick?" Was that a touch of concern in his voice? It ought not be, so Alex decided to kill all thoughts of friendship.

"Well, now that you mention it, I do feel a bit nauseous. But I normally don't get sick on flights." She paused for the effect of mulling it over. Then, with a sarcastic gleam of enthusiasm in her eyes she exclaimed, "Oh, I know what it is! I woke up and the first thing I saw was your face!" Ethan glared at her and returned to his magazine.

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Alexandria had been spending the day with her mother. Just the two of them, talking about growing up a girl, the latest trends, boys, best ways to blow up a terrorist compound, boys, and the best way the sneak a gun through customs. They were in the middle of discussing the benefits of keeping it in one's bra, when Will rushed into the restaurant and dived under the table. Several armed officers rushed in after him, but failed to see where he was cowering behind Alexandria's legs.

"Nobody move! We have an armed assailant in this building. If you know where he his, please turn him about." There was a brief mental struggle in Alexandria's mind. But when I say brief mental struggle I really mean it took her a whole of ten seconds to imagine a Will-less world. After those ten seconds she gladly flipped the table and pinned Will's arm behind his back while holding a knife to his throat.

Will was taken out of the restaurant screaming threats at Alexandria and her mother. Threats he has, thus far, failed to fulfill.

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"Wake up, sleeping beauty." Ethan's voice cut through her dreams, mercifully slicing the memories. The sarcasm dripping off Ethan's voice meant that either he really did think she was good looking and thought that any romantic activities with her would be a living hell, or that he though she was a wretch and was mocking her for it. Not really caring to discuss the topic, she instead gave him a run down.

Short, though taller than her; had a ragged mop of brown hair falling past his ears; a set of light grey eyes hidden under furrowed eyebrows (she supposed that they wouldn't be furrowed if she weren't nearby); cheeks that would most-likely dimple when he smiled; a thick neck; small ears; and a nose large enough to land a Jumbo Jet on. Yet there was something in the way he carried himself, spoke, or _whatever _that simply screamed _"SEXY." _Of course she didn't see it as attractive, merely annoying. With a mental scoff and a rude gesture she grabbed her worn climber's backpack and un-boarded the plane.

As Ethan reached for his brief case, he couldn't help but try to summarize why he dislike her so much. Well, she wasn't exactly a looker, but he couldn't hold that against her. She had a heart shaped face, brown hair not much longer than his own, stunning blue eyes, a pointed nose, full lips, and a rounded chin. She wasn't much shorter than him, just below his eyes, which put her at a perfect height for kissing. Ethan almost ran into a wall when he thought that. Maybe that was why he dislike her so. She provoked thought in him he would rather not have provoked by being a stubborn, obstinate, repellant, _bitch. _He couldn't imagine what attraction this would have. There were total opposites. He was neat, ordered, and all around a perfectionist. He never left a single detail unthought-of, whereas she was a slob, and probably spent her time of slouching in front of a computer and drinking sodas. His missions seemed chaotic, he couldn't imagine what working with her would be like.

"Hey, earth to Space Cadet, come in Major Space Cadet." To emphasize her point she grabbed a paper coffee and spoke into, giving the effect she was speaking over an intercom. Ethan's only response was to snatch the cup and toss it over her should to the nearest waste bin. He had wanted very much to hit her with the cup, but such indicated a grudging playfulness, which he most certainly did _not_ want.

"So, where's our safe house?" Ethan hoped that it wouldn't be some rundown mini apartment.

"I've got a house here. We can stay there." Now _that _raised some questions.

"Why do you have a house here?" Ethan made an effort to keep up now, wondering whom he had been pinned baby-sitting.

"Simple. I used to work here." She claimed their luggage and hailed a taxi on the cab. In perfect Russian she gave him an address.

"Who'd you work for?" Ethan expected some sleazy mob boss.

Nope, no sleazy mob boss, though it would have been preferable. "The Government, who else? I actually designed the security system we'll be breaking into. True, they might have changed a few of the master passwords since I left, but not too many changes. Unless, of course, they totally ditched my plan and went to someone else."

Ethan was really glad the cab driver didn't speak English. "And if they did ditch your plan?"

Alex tipped the cabby and prodded Ethan out of the cramped car. "Then we'll be a couple days late, so what? Really the only reason you're here is to keep me in line. That precious CIA of yours knows that I used to work for the Russians, and still take an odd job or two, but I assure you that I'm a pure patriot. Red, white, and blue all the way through."

Alex was quiet the rest of the way. Up a flight of stairs and they were in her apartment. It was a rather nice apartment, for the middle of Moscow. There was a master bedroom, a living room attached to a small kitchen, an bathroom and a guest room. Alex made for the master bedroom, and Ethan assumed that he would sleep in the guest room.

Just as he walked in he heard Alex shout over her shoulder, "You're not going to want to sleep in there." And Ethan could see why. The whole room looked like a slaughter house. The bed, the walls, the carpet, everything was soaked in blood.

"What happened here!" Alex was easing her way past Ethan to ease him out the door.

"It came that way. Far as I can figure the previous owner was hooker gone bad and knifed a client. For some reason the room came fully furnished." Alex tossed a blanket and two pillows on the couch.

"Gee, I wonder why that is." Alex disappeared into her room and Ethan slouched down on the couch. His only coherent though running somewhere along the line of her being a maniac.

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REVIEW OR FACE THE WRATH OF THE MUSE OF MELODRAMA, SHIFTY LOOKS, AND SHORT PEOPLE! 


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